The Thousandfold Notes of Alejandro Benjazar

[Don Nadie]

To Run Away

Atop the pyramid once more, we went.

"The night air", she said, "is fresher here".

I shivered. Below us, the path. The path he could've taken.
Below us the city, too. And above, the moon.

"Where is the man who we placed our hopes in?", she pondered.
"This is a question I have been asking myself..."
"Ever since I learned what he was involved in"

I hesitated.

"Maybe it wasn't fair of us", I said.
"To put such hopes in him."

                 I knew what I said was sophistry, I knew it was not right.                I knew it was wretched, to defend him. I didn't care.                  The Priestess was gone. Sweet Sparrow, gone.
                      But there was only the present, to live.                                         And I wanted him, desperately, to live.
                   Maybe, yes, to be better, to become worthy.                        But mostly to live, and live, and live.                   
(How pious it was, this selfishness.)                                       
                       (The Priestess would've been proud, I reflect.)             

"I don't even know what's right or what's wrong anymore", I whispered.
"I think that you do, Alejandro", she said.
Her hands gripping the railing, tighter and tighter.
"It's just... Tangled. Brambled thorns"
"Blocking off the path that the heart sees"

She was right, of course. The heart knows its path, of course.
The blood sings its hunger.
But all else? Every other certainty one could hold?
Like the shapes of clouds in the sky.
A breeze is all it takes, to dispel them.

"Did you ever thought of running away?", I asked.
(I knew the answer, in a way. I just wanted to hear it, from her lips)
"It's been offered to me, before", she whispered.
"The offer is closed, now."
(Did she sound melancholic? Satisfied? Wistful?)
"It would've been a deleriction of duty. An abdication."
(Were that we all were transparent)
(and our hearts clear like singing fountains)

The stars were singing for us, as the Stonefolk had said.
There was only that: the song of the stars, with the wind.
And us. Talking. For a moment, I could even go back.
Close my eyes and think of us both, before.
Before roses and thorns came into play. Just before.

"The world is those who we love, and who love us", she whispered.
She reached up, her hand, towards the moon.
"The world is ourselves, too"
Her hand closed, grasping nothing. (Or nothing I could see.)
"I believe in the dream of a world renewed", she added.
"I... Believe, Alejandro", she continued.
Her grey eyes set on me.
(What wretchedness could she see?)
(What wretchedness had I kept hidden, from her?)
"That you are carrying so many deep, and terrible hurts."

Like an oasis in the desert she was, her hug.
How rare it is, to be given choice.
No persuasion, no argument, no lie. Just choice.
Like fresh waters on parched lips.

"Would you be dissapointed if I ran away?"

[Don Nadie]

The Flip of a Coin

                                                                       Arguments for and against:
 
                                           Self interest                                                                       Truth and falsehoood

                                                                  to him
                                  Loyalty            to something or someone
                                                              to the People                                               Pointless, it feels.

                                                                                           At time, too pointless.
                                                                                                  Just as good to throw the Voice down a well.

                                     "The problem is that you care", she said.
                                    (Sweet, burnt Sparrow)                                               (How right you were, always)

                                                                                                            How dirty it feels.
Dirty   
                                                                                    To vote for her, who I know will bow to the Roses.
                                                                                                   Ever the Lyrist, our Aubrey, at heart.

                                                         How dirty too, to follow his intrigue.
                                                                   Beautiful, wretched as he is.

                                      To not care, that'd be the trick
                                               To shrug softly.                                                         To look away.

                                                                 The flip of a coin.

                                             Heads                                                                  Tails   

                                                                                                    Let Fate and chance be the ones to worry,
                                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                                                        for once.

[Don Nadie]

Clearly

I couldn't deny her, when she came to me and asked to dig.
Or I could, I suppose. I just didn't.
Not brave enough. Never brave enough.
So I took her to the Gate of Roses, I dug.
(Not as easy as it seems, to dig)
And we found the hammam, again.
Waters and Revelation, again.

"I wonder how well you suspect the truth", she said.
I stuck the spade onto the ground, brushed the sweat off my brow.
"Is there a truth for me to suspect?", I replied, perhaps brusquely.
"You know there is", she whispered.
I lit a cigarette, a spark in the gloom of the ruined bath.
"Behind how many clouds?"

She spoke about Gellema. Their bulwarks.
She spoke of the promise Jamileh and I showed.
She dared to mention Sparrow, and I tensed.
I tensed with mourning, I tensed with anger.
As she spoke of how she'd tried to help us bloom.

"My working theory, Sister?", I interrupted.
I was holding the reins, holding anger. But how dared she.
"My working theory is that he worked to make Prophecy"
"To make her."

Silence, in the ruins. No Inheritors to interrupt.
My working theory spoke to the Grandmaster's melancholia.
It made us villains, perhaps. No, it definitely made us villains.
(Then again, who isn't villanous these days.)
Silence, except for me. Except for us.
Just shadows, and the slow dripping of fresh water.

"But that's just a working theory", I added. "A tale"
"And like all tales, it weaves truth and falsehood"
"Entwinned"

I took a puff. It burnt, the smoke, and didn't burn enough.

"Like lovers."

She came closer, slow like a curse.
Her robes rustling, drawing meaningless letters on the floor's dust.
She approached and I recoiled, without a thought.
(I recoiled and I felt so sad when I realized it)
And she smiled, at my thougthless steps. She smiled, with pity.

"You are so clever, Alejandro", she said.
A faint smile, upon her lips.
"Perhaps the cleverest of the creatures that wade the ash"
A pause. A spell. Her eyes shone with light-that-was-nothing.
"Yet... For all the trees..."
Her eyes shone, and nothing could escape them.
"I wonder if you can even begin to see the forest"

Silence, and dropplets, and smoke, for a moment.
(I was afraid, I was mourning, I was angry.)
(What tangle they were, my feelings.)
Then, she spoke of Truth. Of the gods.

"If only you had faith", she said.
"If only you would let me guide you"
(I was not crying. Not by lack of want)
"Faith is like love, Sister"
"It is made daily, by our actions"
A moment of silence. A moment, too long, but a moment.
"I do not think you know what Love is, Alejandro"

She spoke. She spoke so softly and my ears were ringing.
She spoke so softly and all I heard was her voice.
And myself, within. Screaming. I wanted to scream out, so badly.
And their statues looked at us from the pool's shore.
Half-art, half-clutter. Their eyes empty. As were their hearts.
(I envied them, those statues)

"Clearly, Sister, one of us failed", I snapped.
"Clearly, we do not agree on who did the failing"

I took a deep breath. I told her to live and drink.
To call upon me, if aid was needed. For I couldn't deny her.
(Or I could. But I don't think I'd want to)

"But", I added, "Do. Not."
I pressed my lips. I could only steal a glance back.
"Do not try to convince me my feelings are wrong", I ordered.
(I would've cried, if I looked at her directly)
"You do not get to betray my trust."
"And lay, upon myself, the blame."

And I called darkness upon us, so that I wouldn't see anymore, and I walked away into the College, and I rushed into the Dungeon, and I smelled the roses and I unclasped the cloak because I could barely breath, I could barely breath, I couldn't breath a minute longer with that poison in the air, with all the  lies in the air, with all the voices in the air and with all the screaming, the screaming, my screaming, in the air.

[Don Nadie]

Reason

Once, there was a mirror.
And day in, day out, it reflected the same things.

"Reason to leave?", he asked.
I didn't knew what to list.
The big ones, the small ones, the tiny one?
"Inability to fulfill my duties to the extent the College deserves?", I offered.

It reflected the morning followed by the noon.
It reflected the dressing up, and the dressing down.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner, it reflected.

He was crying, poor Jacques. Sweet Jacques.
He was asking who I was leaving for, throwing names:
Domhnall, Jamileh, the Torchbearers.
But, as the bards say, what's in a name?
"Is it that hard to believe this is my choice?", I asked.
(As I'd learn over the next few hours, it is.)

And one day something changed, a tiny thing.
Something was missing.
And the mirror couldn't place it, not exactly.
Was it the color of the shirt? Was it the tilt of a window?
Because it was definitely something.

"She was not talking abut being unwilling to compromise politically!", he claimed.
"She was talking about morality!"
I tried not to sigh. Not to smirk, either.
(How we all would love it, to never compromise)
"She's... A dreamer, the same way you are, Alejandro"
Of course She is. And like I, she knows when a dream is flailing.
Better than I, probably.

So the mirror kept looking within itself.
It kept looking at the contents of its reflection.
At the dinner, lunch, breakfast.
At the dressing down and the dressing up.
Seeking, ever seeking to find it.

"I don't hate you fool! None of us do!", he said.
"You're just a difficult petal to lose", added Roderick.
(It was a relief, I guess. I could breathe a bit better, I guess)
"Apart from Mungus Lepfont, admittedly", Jacques pointed out.
(Fucking Mungus. The plagiarizing shithead. "The Blessed Behind", my ass!)
(I'm sneaking into the College and eating his ricecakes one last time)

So deep it looked at the things arround it.
So deep it searched, for the Truth.
The Truth it couldn't find, for all seem imperfect.

"Is it true what Cosine says?", Jacques asked, tearful.
I couldn't lie to our beautiful Jacques, of course.
(How could I lie to such a tender man?)
"Look upon all of these unburnt letters", I said.
"If I were? I'd be the worst of them all"

And the mirror, focused on the imperfection, failed.
And it reflected the wrong color for the robe.
The wrong food at the table.
The wrong hour of the day.

"Are you joining the Torchbearers?"
"I expected to see you in the Sandstone colors by now"
"Already preparing for the next election?"
A flock. An unnerving flock of questions.
So much curiosity, and so little I would share.
(Would? Wanted to? Cared to? Dared to?)

It never realized the problem.
The mirror, quite simply, was cracked.

[Don Nadie]

Just Once

[A page stinking of mizzar. The calligraphy is slow and thoughtful.]

          I saw him Drink.
                           His lips got so red, so red                  Red like the Truth at the bottom of an ocean.

                    Parched, I'm parched.                                   My lips are parched.                And there is but salt.

They left, for the Wyld places                        Where visions       for the worhty
                                                                                 are woven                                    (Upon Their stallion, They ride)
       Focus focus focus focus          I must focus
                                                                There's nothing for me there, therein lies oblivion
                                                                                                               and loss, and mourning.
   If the bell rings, if the moon glimmers.         Would Prophecy reach me?
     
                        If I did it just once, just once.                           Just once is ok, just once.           For the heart aches, and remembers.

Just once, into the clouds, just once.                                  For the clouds are tender and full of mercy.
                                 Just once more, just once.

                                                                  The clouds are so very, very loving.
                    It's just once, and nobody needs to know.                                                      I'll do it just once, and nobody'll be the wiser.

And I'll sleep, just once.         
                        Deeeply.                                     Wrapped, just once, in the clouds.
                                                        Arround me the clouds.                                               So soft, just once, the clouds.

           Not enough, but much better, Wheel above.                                                   So soft, so soft.
                                                                    So much better, these clouds.

            Sleeping, sleeping, just once.                                                                    Sleepig in peace, just once.
                                   Just once, no screaming to wake me.                   Just once, just once.
       
                                                             And nobody needs to know, because it's once, and just once.

[Don Nadie]

Colors

I have no idea of what to wear. Or what colors I like. Or how I find something that fits me. For all the burdens of the cloak, it made things rather simple: every day, the same. And the uniforms wereare well-tailored.

Jacques just diddoes an excellent job.

It's all messier, now. Trying to find something that doesn't feel awkward and strange? Much more complicated that I'd have thought. It's fine. I mean, of course it's fine. It'd be extremely silly to care about looking good and feeling comfortable in the middle of everything else. So I probably should just find whatever and wear it. And not feel like my skin is crawling because everything feels unfamiliar. Just go to the tailor and choose something.

I just have to avoid Green, because it's the Legion's; and Blue, because its the Tower's; and Purple and Gold, because it's the League's; and Orange, because it's the Torchbearers; and Red and Black, because of the obvious. I think this leaves beige, white and pink.

Wheel above, I'm doomed.

At least friends are helping. Or giving their opinions, at least. And Narwen and Miranda found me a fancy scarf to wear.

"It's handsome", she said.
"But a bit frayed arround the edges"
I smiled, weakly.
(Metaphors are sometimes so stupidly self-evident.)
"So am I".

[Don Nadie]

Silly

An election. And the most important of all! An election for the noble Beast that shall represent our City in heraldry and standard, in battle and, most important, in our hearts. And what beast could be better, I wonder, that the noble Goat (Baby)? So many would choose carnivores, great beasts of burden, dangerous beasts that would attack refugees. But why? We are not a monster that assaults refugees, but a sweet and delightful creature, able to grow, full of curiosity, stubbornness and recklessness. Also, goats are lovely conversationalists.

And also, baby goats are cute. I suppose that, on the same ground, I could live with Groknak (baby).

Sadly, the winners ended up being Groknak, Lion and Heron. It shows that people are utter bores. Such basic, average, dull choices. But now we'll have a discussion on those three. And I bet the Lion would win (if it weren't for the Orentids).

This was really the best argument in favor of Tyranny I have ever witnessed.

"The greatest idiocy I have ever witnessed in this City", he said.
The poor man, he didn't get it.
"We need sillyness, señor mio"
I smiled, tenderly. Wearily.
"We have enough serious and horrible matters."
"Every day".

[Don Nadie]

We

Terrified, we went. Our hands were shaky as we delved, alone. A path, half-divined in the darkness. A path, made in secret. Stealth and trickery and ilusions, to keep our path. Warding, Their smile, or perhaps Their benign neglect. In there more than anywhere else, as veils were parted, for us.

Just two, against the darkness. More dangerous, much more dangerous, but I felt, for once, in control. For once, with someone I trusted wholeheartedly. For once, with someone who wouldn't lie to me. In this city of misdirection? A gift.

There we were. The earth itself shook arround us, the wails echoed, the dangers lurked. But it was fine, We saw, we discovered, we decyphered what I had never seen before.  We faced, with trickery, Giants. We were few but strong. We were few but daring.

We, the quick. Our hearts beating deep crimson.
(Perhaps I was always right)
(And the College is the heart)
(And everything else is ornamentation)

"I am happy", I said, almost surprised.
I was terrified, we were returning from the darkness.
Returning with dread, and discovery, and success.
"I feel really happy", I insisted.
She smiled, her eyes shining too, just as mine.
Joy and terror, both. Entwinned.
"Good", she said. "I like you happy."

[Don Nadie]

Matters of Diplomacy

I returned from climbing.
(Secrets uncovered once, alone, at last to be shared)
(A door was opened, three more behind it)
I returned, and I found an axe unsheathed.
And ancient emnity, bursting forth.

"This is insult!", he boomed, his red beard twitching.
Like so many, this poor man.
Forsaken by his Ancestors, thinking himself, here.
The center of the world.
"I do not think this distant city knew who'd receive them", I whispered.

He was furious. So was Aurelio.
A diplomatic envoy met with weaponry and threats.
Wheel above, the choices. Thank Warad for Narwen.
While she whispered, so did I.

"Consider, señor mio: if his Ancestors are wicked"
"To count this envoy as their heir?
"To forbid him a chance of rejecting the past, of changing?
"Isn't it cruel?

Stalling the axe, is never simple.
Reject the spear, the axe, the sling. I remember always.
For blood, once spilled, will flow forever.
And the sorrows will be beyond count.

"Alejandro", Gaston asked, later. "Please, explain it"
There was a crowd. There was anger.
There was the promise of war, in the air.
"Please, defuse the situation"

A sigh. I spoke, calmly.
Of things secret and things known and things deduced.
I spoke, of the ancient mountain of Kulkund.
And he breathed more evenly, his anger soothed.
His anger, stalled by Tragedy.
(That's me, is it not? Knowledge, and charm)
(Finding a path into the heart of another)
(And pulling the strings)

"Sing this song for me, manling", he requested.
Coin, of course. No charity or gifts, for High Kulkund's dwarves.
I, of course, would've done it for free.
For this, too, was his heritage.

It echoed in the ceilings of the Krak.
Two notes at once, vibrations.
Words ancient and deep and hidden.

A song sung, and never silenced.

[Don Nadie]

A Little Rhyme

[A little rhyme, written in terrified, shaky calligraphy.]

One, two... We're coming for you.
Three, four... No seals anymore.
Five, six... Tear down the bricks.
Seven, eight... Dead Legates.

I need to speak to them.
Something needs to move, to be done.
Selfishness, I know, but I can't.
Anonymous wormingers are one thing, friendly acquiantances are one thing.
But this is something else altogether.

[Don Nadie]

The Puppet

[This is a small story, perhaps the draft for something within the Thousandfold Tale.]

Once, there was a puppet.
Oh, what daring feats he performed!
How charming he was, in his crimson livery!
How cheerful, the ringing bells on his hat!

I was just wandering, as one does. Fighting, as one does.
I was just wandering alone, and free.
The wind rustling my white scarf, so much lighter.
So much lighter, on my shoulders.

But in his heart of hearts, the puppet had doubts.
For even the most loyal puppet may develop the feeling
that the hand which moves him is less than benign.
As it carelessly, heartlessly, puts words in his mouth.

The day was hot, my lips were parched.
But I was smiling, wildly, becase I felt free.
Because sometimes one really feels free.
As his feet barely touch the Ash.
And his song echoes in the wind.
Running, wild, and forward.

And so, in the night, the puppet cut his strings.
And dropped his jingling hat, and changed his livery.
And ran into the wilds, to laugh under the moon.

Then my voice, my own voice.
Singing something else altogether.
Singing a song which was not mine.

And he was happy forever, he was happy forever.
He was so happy that his laughter toppled towers,
and his joy lit the night like a lighthouse.

I won't escape. I can't escape.
I've forgotten who I am.
There's no running from fate.

And this is how it was told, so it must be true.

It must be true.

[Don Nadie]

Oh, Theatrics!

He had a plan, ourtheir sweet, golden knight.
Revelation, he wished to bestow upon them.

"You are neither a friend", he said, "nor stranger"
"But you may come, if you want to bear this burden"

I followed them, descended with them.
(My smile, a practiced thing)
(Set upon my lips, like a painting)
To the shore of the Waters, we descended.

"I am called Below", he declared.
His helmet, off. A scar, deep.
(Not quite managing to make him ugly)
(The opposite, somehow)
"For Below I will find the Dakhwar"
"and, through our actions, will the Pilgrim be made"

I did not intervene, but listened, quietly.
(What artistry, in holding a smile)

"How does he do it?", I whispered, to her.
My eyes on him, shimmering in his self-assurance.
"How does he have this trust in himself?"
"It isn't trust", she replied.
(I felt the echo of those fetid words)
(THE MANIA, they said, and much more besides)

The air was wet, humid. Mists climbing from the pool.
Then he Drank, and the world lit up with wonder.
And his lips shimmered, like dark rubies.

"Will you accompany me, Jamileh?", he asked.
(Did my smile crack? I tried to hold it)
He wasn't looking at me, yet. He hadn't asked.
(I had broken his heart, of course)
Then, when she requested that I join them, a dagger:
"Alejandro was going to be the first I told", he said.

I watched, quietly. Feeling some feeling without name.
Love, jealously, admiration, annoyance, all of them, perhaps, at once.
His "Revelation", theatrics, and shimmering stagecraft.
What I had already worked on, what I had already known, and said.
My reports and discussions, retooled into Fate.

(Or perhaps it was worse, perhaps he did have a Vision)
(And I did not, because I was never worthy)

[Don Nadie]

Cimientos

[This entry is titled with a foreign word. It contains an odd, strangely poetic paragraph and what appear to be some verses, out of context]

    *    In the darkness, a path is divined, a door opened, a secret uncovered.    *    It beats, the truth beats, its gears turning, ever turning, and in the turning of its fears, many things become possible, that would otherwise not be.    *    (It burns, but it casts no light)    *    The veils part; beyond, horror and history, entwinned, like lovers.    *    As above, so below: the heavens echo, the disc echoes.    *    In the mirage of reflections upon reflections, one wonders where it started.    *    Dreams of deep veins, drafting Fate under the skin.    *    (It burns, but it casts no light)    *    A craft without the craftsmen presupposes the Divine.    *    Truth echoes, Truth hides, Truth shapes, Truth shatters.    *    Prophecy, crafted at the bottom of a Cup.    *    (It burns, but it casts no light)    *    The Disc is singing, a chorus for deaf ears.    *    Two we were, two we were. Providence upon parched lips, like Water.    *    Therein resides, luminous, the body true.    *    (It burns, in silence, it burns)    *    At the Threshold of Revelation, merry is the laughter, truthful the wail.    * 

Two we were.
Two we were.

In the depths we gathered.
A sphinx's feather.
A mote of Ash.

[Don Nadie]

A Fortress by the Edutu

[A series of impressionist paragraphs, descriptions of some distant land scattered through the page.]

Recruited for some reasons, conscripted for others.
Surprising. Not to be sent, but to receive a title for the event.
(Don't know if I'm mortified, or if I relish the scandal)
(Then again, I can probably use the scandal)
Coin gathered, a familiar man seen above, for once.
(I had said goodbye to him but an hour ago, good that he didn't mention)
And a bridge where there was none before.

Whatever I expected, things certainly were different.
A fortress, on the banks of the river, whirling blades of iron, smog.
Raised mountains, raised fortresses. By a calipha's hands, raised.
The river, I saw the river, from whence Life flows.
And how filthy the waters arround this city.
(A tinge of pain, I felt. No flowers on its shore)

Shimmering, this City's scholarship. Reckless, too.
(What this place could be, if it wanted to)
Wonders moving on their own. Salvaged and designed.
And people, grey-skinned, sunken-eyed, coughing.
Wonders, everywhere you look, wonders.
And smog, and coughing, and wheezing, and illness.
Scholars and laborers alike, coughing.

A market for trinkets. For strange, unexplainable things.
Things that hum. Things that shimmer. Things that move without limbs.
(I was overwhelmed, with admiration)
(With the awe of things I did not understand)
No instruments, though. No texts, no arts, in their market.
That, too, says something.

The temple is harmed. Or broken. Or under renovations.
An Ashtorm, breaking the one thing on a plateau.
Plentiful, His statues. Many-armed Izdu, the Abaccus.
(It makes sense, of course. We all keep our suspicions, of course)
(Still, even the worst-case scenario? Not the worst.)

The Madrassa, the Lift, the Arteries, the Well.
Mysteries and possibilities. Riches, perhaps. Wonders, perhaps.
Terrors, too, perhaps. Silent gas, and traps, and constructs.
But possibilities, mostly.

I think we did, all in all, quite well.

[Don Nadie]

The Other Side of the Table

I suppose this is it, now. A step that may protect me, protect us all, even whilst outside of the Accord. Not an easy or pleasant step, but a step nonetheless. It is fine, it shall be fine, even if it is, also, a bit mortifying. Circumstances were not ideal, and I worry about how it was all discussed, in the aftermath. About what people might think of it, or of me. As Lynneth said, I care too much about what people think of me.

"I was surprised by the expediency of the decision", I said, politely.
We were in her office, such luxury. Discussing both personal business and Governance.
(Meaning, I wanted a second opinion on some matters of Law. And money. Mostly money)
"He is a man driven by his Passions", she declared, with a bemused expression.
"And you are one of them."
(Fortunately, I managed not to blush. I am getting better at it.)
After a second, I smiled through the embarrasment.
"I fully intend to raise up to the occasion", I said softly.
"Hence, my presence here"

Meetings upon meetings, preparing the the field, setting up the table.
And from the other side of it, so odd.
To see their cloaks and colors, and be on the other side.
And not bear the burden of their choices.
(So then, why did I feel this creeping sense of mourning?)
(Why this dread?)

"We bring you a gift", she said, gesturing to me, the bitch.
And I, once more, smiled through it.
Even if I kept thinking about it, while all else was said.

            Scandal, I suppose, a pious tribute.               
Misdirection and mischief, under Their smile.                                 
(Any breath spent talking about nepotism... Is one less spent discussing worse things)
                                     (And if I smiled by the side of the Rossa, I can smile through these rumors)
May Their smile be on my lips, as I endeavour in politics, Their domain.